


Don't Lose Your Heart In A Laundromat

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Castiel, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Laundromat, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Requited Love, Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A frantic call from Castiel leaves Dean with the difficult decision to leave Sam in the hospital long enough to go get him. Sam tells him to go, knowing Dean will never be able to focus without the former angel, so Dean drives overnight to a laundromat in Colorado. Seeing Castiel as a human man for the first time is both a relief but perplexing and strangely emotional too. Road rash on Castiel's hands, along with other cuts and scrapes show Dean in glaring detail exactly how mortal he is now. Something shifts in Dean, the long-buried pull to that man, and before he knows it, he's kissing Castiel against a washing machine. He doesn't know where they'll go from here. All he knows is this moment in a dingy laundromat, reunited with his angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean drove straight through without sleep when he got the call. It tore him up to leave Sam in that hospital bed, but he'd waited until his brother woke for a few minutes to see what he felt about it. The guilt of Sam's accusations in the church still burned inside, an ever-present reminder that he really thought Dean chose Castiel, Benny, and others over him. That was never true. But Dean never could escape his pull to Castiel, the one who shared so many of his secrets.

In the end, Sam told him to bring Castiel home. Maybe he knew Dean would never be able to focus as long as he wondered where Castiel was or if he was okay. Maybe Sam _did_ care about Castiel in spite of his horrifying tearful church confessions to the contrary. Regardless, Sam told him to go and so Dean left for Colorado, calling the hospital every hour on his overnight drive.

It wasn't hard to find Castiel. He'd been hiding out in a 24 hour laundromat after realizing most of the fallen angels wanted him dead. Hesitation and bad, bad lies spilled from his mouth when Dean asked if he'd been hurt, so he had no idea what to expect. Blood, broken bones, or nothing at all. Castiel obviously tried lying to him, though, and his lies almost always amounted to trying to protect Dean from something. No more of that, he decided. Things had to change if Castiel was going to stay with them. If he intended to stay. Jesus, Dean needed him to _stay_ for once.

Dean found the laundromat and pulled around back, uncertain if the Impala might tip off the fallen angels. It looked pretty empty through the windows but he kept a grip on the angel blade in his jacket just in case.

He broke in through the locked back door and crept through a utility room until emerging cautiously in the laundromat. Over the years, he'd passed through some awful, ghetto looking laundromats but that one was particularly ugly with its blinding yellow walls and outdated washers and dryers. At least the place was empty, except Castiel's head bobbing around in the far corner.

"Cas, you okay?" he asked as he rushed between washers.

"Hello, Dean. Thank you for coming."

Blue eyes dulled to watery gray with trauma and regret lifted to Dean's face, whose shoes stuttered on the linoleum floor. An intangible luster had disappeared from Castiel's presence, replaced by pain and isolation. Dean guessed the angelic grace transformed into his new human soul and it changed him. Dean didn't know what to do with the shift, possibly imperceptible to anyone except him.

Dean's tongue flashed over his lips. "Where are your clothes?"

The former angel Castiel wore only boxers - the baggiest white things Dean had ever seen, like something from his grandfather's generation. He'd once showed up naked and covered in bees on the Impala, but Dean had never otherwise seen him so exposed. The broadness of his shoulders, natural strength through his chest and arms, as well as the unyielding lines of his collarbones surprised Dean, who'd grown accustomed to years of a man swallowed by an ill-fitting suit.

 _Shit_. He realized he stared and missed what Castiel said.  "Sorry, what?"

Castiel's left eye narrowed just slightly. "I said my clothes were dirty."

"Oh." Snapping back into reality, Dean put two and two together. "Shit, you put the suit and the coat in the washer, didn't you?"

"Isn't that standard procedure when articles of clothing become soiled?"

Dean chuckled, feeling a bit of warmth bleed into his chest as something in him recognized the old Castiel. "No, Cas, not when it's a suit. They have to be sent to the cleaners. You probably ruined your clothes."

Another nearly imperceptible shift in the atmosphere passed between them as they both dropped their eyes to the rumbling washer. They were just clothes, of course. Inanimate pieces of fabric. Yet they were part of Castiel for so many years that he seemed naked without them, even if he eventually wore five or six layers of new clothes. Dean remembered pulling the coat from the reservoir when the Leviathans overtook Castiel's body. He thought the angel had really been killed that time, yet part of him refused to let go. He'd carefully folded the damn coat in the trunk of the Impala, having found a waterlogged photo of him and Sam in the pocket.

Clearing his throat to hide the ball of emotion choking him, Dean turned away and wandered toward the windows. He hugged himself around the chest. So that was the first goodbye to the old Castiel. A cheap, baggy suit ruined in the washer.

The second goodbye occurred to Dean suddenly as if the universe laughed at them and planted the thoughts. He couldn't pray to Castiel anymore because Castiel couldn't hear them. So many private things had passed between them when Dean finally learned to pray, and yes, to have faith in the angel. Even when Castiel ignored his prayers or didn't come when he needed him, faith still beat as steadily in Dean's chest as his own heartbeat. Ripping away that open door of intimacy caused physical pain just then, like cracking open his chest and tearing it from his body. Praying to Castiel was the one thing he never knew he wanted so much until the privilege no longer existed.

Dean's gaze fell to the floor. He didn't expect it to hurt that much, the change in Castiel's existence. It meant redefining a great deal about their bond and forced him to look his feelings in the face. He didn't need Castiel because it was useful to keep an angel in his back pocket. He needed Castiel because he'd driven overnight without sleep to bring him home. He needed Castiel because they kept each other's secrets. He needed Castiel because he hated the idea of life without him.

"Dean, are you angry?" Castiel asked quietly amid the hum of the washer's mechanisms.

He shook his head, and curled his toes in his shoes as if grounding himself to the floor.

"Why won't you look at me then?"

Cornered, really, Dean relented and turned to face him again. "I just..."

Castiel's face tilted. "Yes?"

"I can't pray anymore. To you."

"Why do you need to pray? I'm standing right here, Dean." Eyes squinted.

"No, I know," replied Dean in quick, uncertain syllables. "It's just one of those things. Now that it's off the table, I think I ... I think I'm gonna miss it. You were the only one I ever prayed to in my life."

The first smile as a human man brought life back to Castiel's face. "That means a great deal to me, Dean."

He chuckled, not because he found it funny, but because a flood of relief warmed him knowing that Castiel's mannerisms apparently lingered after his grace was drained away. Before Dean realized what he was doing, he drifted closer once more, their personal space issues again broken by his unconscious gravitational pull. White boxers hung loosely around his hips, which distracted his quick appraisal of cuts, scratches, and bruises. Almost nothing about men ever held his attention but ... but Castiel was different. Occasionally Dean had allowed that little thought to grow more before he smashed it down again. Knowing Castiel called him first and wanted him to come and get him, though, pushed the sense of attachment closer to the surface.

Their hands were nearly the same size, Dean thought absently as he turned that new human hand over in his. Raw, scraped flesh appeared and it looked as if Castiel hadn't even picked the gravel out of it.

"What happened here?" he interrogated.

Castiel's eyes shifted nervously and he yanked his hand back from Dean's grip. "An angel. She tried to hit me with a car. I jumped."

"You have to take care of injuries like this if you can't mojo yourself back to new anymore." He eyed the new human, suddenly filled with worry and a desire to verbally lash him for not taking care of it. But, he reminded himself, Castiel still probably hadn't fully realized his mortality.

That was it. He watched the anguish constrain Castiel's face, realizing part of him was still deep in denial.

"Sorry, Cas. I'm not bitching. I just..." He cared for that man. He  _cared_. And he cleared his throat to swallow back the abrupt emotion, covering himself with the task. "C'mon. I'll show you how to clean up this stuff."

Dean led Castiel by the hand to a wide, rather deep porcelain sink. He shoved the wound under the faucet palm up and, more tenderly than he expected of himself, rubbed away the gravel and dirt. Warmth invaded his presence as Castiel leaned in and observed. Dean's eyes flickered anxiously over his profile, the strong cut of his jaw, the dark five o'clock shadow, but he didn't step back. He could have easily. The warmth invited him, though, and felt ... natural.

"Hot water is a pleasant sensation," Castiel remarked.

The deep timbre of his voice in such close proximity jolted Dean through the spine. He dropped his eyes to the road rash again just to try and steady his racing mind.

"There. Got the gravel out. I'll put a bandage on it later."

"Thank you, Dean," he replied quietly, though he didn't pull away.

He swallowed and his throat dried out, so he swallowed again. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I guess I was wondering if--"

But Dean never finished the question, nor did he even remember what he meant to ask. His hands clamped Castiel's face and drew him in abruptly, lips smashed together, finding the groove between them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he expected Castiel to shove him away. Hell, he honestly didn't even know what made him do it except the God-forsaken _need_ for relief and break his internal tension.

Castiel's lips parted and his mouth yielded to Dean's as a wet hand slipped inside of his jacket. He didn't push him away.  _He didn't stop it_. One of Dean's hands skimmed around to the back of Castiel's head, fingers threading through his messy, dark hair. His other hand dropped from his face to the small of his naked back. They tugged each other closer until they pressed so firmly together that Dean's pelvis instinctively sought friction against the body before him. But he let a strained groan fill Castiel's mouth as he forced himself to calm down.

"Hmm," Castiel hummed against Dean's lips and caressed his cheek. "This is a pleasant sensation too."

Dean smirked. "Better than hot water?"

"Perhaps," he replied with the first smirk of a new human.

"Then I have to try harder," Dean whispered, seizing his second kiss.

The relief of not having to fight it anymore flooded Dean's senses, as did the endless plane of skin offered to him in Castiel's body - truly  _his_ body. Dean propelled him backwards as his lips taught new sensations along the cut line of his jaw. Little gasps entranced Dean and he became consumed by the desire to make Castiel  _feel_ the better side of mortality.

Castiel's waist hit the washer, making Dean feel the steady rhythmic rumbling through his body. That time, it was Castiel's hips that jutted forward, seeking friction against Dean. He peeled away Dean's coat and yanked open the buttons of his maroon shirt. A pile of clothes pooled on the floor until nothing remained except Dean's boxer briefs, leaving the pair of them on equal ground. And amid a flurry of unpracticed kisses, Castiel's hands drifted down Dean's chest from his impossibly wide shoulders.

Neither of them could hide their arousal as rigid cocks restrained by boxers rubbed with their smallest movements. If anyone had walked into the laundromat, Dean doubted he could have found it in himself to care. Too many times had Castiel been killed, and so had Dean for that matter, which left a sense of never enough time settling on his shoulders.

Though the new human man fumbled with inexperience and adrenalin, he certainly knew where that road led as he hastily tugged Dean's boxer briefs down.

"Hold on, Cas," murmured Dean through the thick haze of desire to possess him too. He cupped Castiel's face and wetly broke the kiss. "I don't have anything - I mean - I don't know exactly but I think dudes - you know - dudes have to use stuff."

Castiel blinked, trying to piece it together. "Condoms?"

"No - how do you know about condoms? - No. I mean..." He shook his head at his own hesitation and softly laughed at himself. "Lube, Cas. I mean lube. We need that."

"Oh..." The former angel nodded, though his face fell in disappointment.

"Hey, that doesn't mean I'm done with you. Call it an appetizer." Dean's voice lowered to a dark tone as his fingertips traced purposeful, teasing lines along Castiel's cock through his boxers. "It's not all depression and bullshit being a man. Sometimes..."

A higher, tense sound collected in Castiel's throat and his cock twitched under Dean's playfully faint touch. And once Dean pulled the horribly baggy white boxers off, he pushed Castiel, nudging him to sit on the washer, and abruptly parted his legs enough to fit between them.

Slow, loose pulls up and down the length of Castiel's cock intoxicated Dean with the sense of power in teaching him such heady sensations. He leaned against the washer too and let the machine's vibrations ripple pleasure from the base of his own cock. Knowing Castiel felt the same vibrations by sitting on the washer, legs splayed open, intensified Dean's pleasure. His blue eyes turned to electric ice through hooded lids and his head tipped back.

"Dean," the word came out like a desperate moan, "what about you?"

"Don't worry 'bout me. There are a zillion motels between here and home," Dean whispered into Castiel's throat. "And the Impala." He sucked a bruise into the former angel's neck. "And random fields." His hand tightened around velvety skin, the head of his cock rhythmically disappearing into his fist. "I'm gonna get mine too, but now's 'bout you."

As Castiel's self-possessed nature slowly unraveled in Dean's hands, he clung to his hunter and groaned against his shoulder. Dean envisioned how many ways they could make love before they got home - because it sure as hell  _wasn't_ just going to be fucking Castiel for kicks - and a jolting avalanche of lightning hot pleasure overtook him. He came in his shorts like a teenager, but he didn't care, as he heard himself hoarsely call out Castiel's name.

Feeling Dean's body tense and shudder apparently sent Castiel spiraling out of control in moment. He nuzzled Dean's neck and Dean nuzzled his, desperately needing to be so close that they could have fused into one entity in some alien universe. He furiously jerked Castiel's cock, a pounding rhythm, wanting him never to forget his first orgasm as a human man.

"Dean! Dean,  _Dean_..." Castiel panted and moaned the only syllable he felt as thick, white bursts of come shot from his cock. He listed forward against Dean's shoulder, both only vaguely aware of the hot stickiness splattered between both their abdomens.

A heavy length of silence followed as Dean gave him time to recover his senses. His free hand looped around the back of Castiel's shoulders and pulled him tightly into an embrace, hoping to convey so many things he didn't know how to verbalize. Nothing gave Dean a sense of peace anymore, except being close to that beautiful creature in his arms. So many thoughts he'd never considered flowed into his brain in the aftershocks. No labels. Just the brief solitude of peace between them.

"Shit. I should've asked before I kissed you like that," whispered Dean once his senses began surfacing again.

Awkwardness and uncertainty engulfed his body. He tensed and pulled back, rubbing his messy hand on his shorts. Castiel might as well have been a baby human for all he knew about living in mortality, and how on Earth could he understand individual sexuality.... Dean's mind picked up speed and the crushing weight of guilt and indecision plagued him.

"Dean..."

"I don't..."

Castiel's hands, warm and damp with exertion, tenderly grasped Dean's face and forced him to meet his eyes. "I knew what I was doing, Dean. I'm not so naive that I don't know what... this... is."

"Yeah," whispered Dean, "but I don't know what I did exactly..."

"You stopped lying to yourself," Castiel replied with the sort of reserved wisdom that knocked Dean in the gut. "The last thing I heard before I fell was your voice, Dean. You screamed my name. I thought I was going to die. And my last thought was thanking God that I heard your voice one more time."

"Cas... I..." He trailed off, unable to speak. "I dunno what to say."

"Say you know this wasn't a mistake," Castiel said in a small voice, much smaller than a being once the size of the Chrysler building.

Of course, deep down, Dean knew it wasn't a mistake. The only thing that felt right for the longest time in his life was the second he kissed Castiel. He sighed and passed a rough hand over his head.

"Hell, Cas, I know this isn't a mistake," he finally said.

A twitch of a smile deepened laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. "Say you'll take me home," he ventured a little further.

Dean chuckled and wrapped an arm around his bare shoulders again. "I wasn't gonna leave without you, Cas. I'm not gonna leave without you again."


	2. Chapter 2

Thick, aimless rain bands distorted the night sky and the yellow streetlights through the windowpane. Dean should have slept but an unspecific sense of urgency kept him awake. He needed to remember the passing moment of bliss before things inevitably became complicated. So, as thunder rumbled above the motel halfway to Kansas City, he soaked in that fleeting moment. He tucked it inside of himself, saving it for much harder days.

The chest pillowing his head filled with an abrupt breath. Castiel stirred in his sleep and unconsciously flung an arm around Dean's shoulders. The hunter held his breath, waiting for Castiel to settle again. It had taken forever for him to fall asleep, though Dean didn't quite understand why. Every time he'd drifted off, his body jerked him awake again, almost as if sleep frightened him. It wasn't until Dean pillowed his head on Castiel's chest, arms stuffed beneath him and gave him skin to skin warmth, that he finally fell asleep.

And then Dean discovered the steady  _thump_ ,  _thump_ ,  _thump_ , of his new human heartbeat. With his temple resting on Castiel's clavicle, the side of his face resting just a bit to the left side of his chest, the constant feeling of a heartbeat silenced his mind. He didn't have to overthink it. The feeling of life in Castiel's body allowed him to relax, just for the night.

"You're not sleeping, Dean," the former angel murmured, half-awake.

"Nope," he admitted quietly.

"You should sleep."

"So should you," Dean countered.

"I haven't mastered this human behavior yet," replied Castiel, but then he changed the subject before Dean could respond. "Are you worried about Sam?"

"Always."

A gentle hand found Dean's hair and lazily stroked his scalp. The attempts at affection were not unwelcome but Dean recognized their humanness. Those slight shifts in Castiel - his looser posture, a different darkness in his eyes, the way he'd been touching Dean since they found each other again - it all added up to Castiel fully occupying his body and developing a soul.

"He must find something to live for. If he gives up hope, he won't survive this illness," said Castiel after some time.

Nodding against his chest, Dean admitted, "I don't know how to help him. He was always the guy telling me to keep going and keep fighting. He thought he was purifying himself with the trials. Then I had to make him stop or he'd die and he didn't care. He wanted to die."

"Sam doesn't want to die." And as he said it, Castiel squeezed Dean's shoulders just slightly. "I don't believe that. What he wants is absolution. He wants to make right everything he feels he's done wrong. Purification wasn't just for him. It was for everything he let happen in his misguided attempts at stopping the apocalypse. It was for all of the lives lost that he blamed himself for not saving. At times, that included you and me too." His long fingers resumed passing through Dean's hair. "He has to find his new purpose. His identity."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, subtly leaning into the touch. "He says I keep choosing other people over him. Dad, Bobby, Benny, and ... and you. So he thinks I'm better off without him, I guess." It pained him to say so and dragged his memory back to the church the night the angels fell. "Maybe he's right about me. I mean, he's lying in the hospital and I dropped everything to come get you. And now ... here we are, in bed."

"I've never seen brothers as devoted as both of you. He's been ill for so long. Of course he's feeling debilitated and rejected, but I don't believe he's thinking clearly, Dean," replied the former angel. "Sam believed in me when most didn't and he always tried to smooth over conflicts between you and me. You are devoted to your brother. That doesn't mean you're disallowed from engaging in other bonds."

"We should have driven straight through," said Dean dismally. "I should be there."

"We'll be there soon enough. You've been calling the hospital every hour. There really isn't much more you can do." He shifted beneath Dean as if relieving pressure on his back.

"I could be looking for a cure. Something. Anything."

"Dean..." It wasn't irritation. He sounded concerned.

But Dean didn't need concern. He needed help and he needed his brother to be okay again. He needed to not feel so fucking guilty about the comfort and safety he felt lying there draped over Castiel's chest. He needed to not feel so torn.

Dean rolled off Castiel and flung himself on his back beside him. He rubbed the stress from his face, vaguely aware of how suddenly cold and alone he felt without their recent near-constant physical contact. But the fact of the matter in his mind was how he didn't deserve that kind of peace and contentment. The trials were supposed to be Dean's burden. He could have taken it. And if he had died in the process, so be it. Sam was the one with the potential to live successfully in that family, not him.

The silhouette highlighted by faint streetlights outside rose up on his elbow, bare chested, and peering down at Dean. He couldn't see it - just a gaping black form looming over him - but he felt those intense blue eyes making a study of him.

"What?" Dean demanded, in spite of not meaning to sound so harsh.

Castiel said nothing at first. His fingertips found Dean's jawline in the dark and he traced the contours of his strained, weathered features until that hand lovingly cupped his cheek. It surprised Dean each instance that Castiel approached him like a lover. He never wanted to pull away once he'd taken the bull by the horn and kissed him in the laundromat. Once he made a decision, like kissing the angel that pulled him out of Hell, he stuck to it. And yet, the guilt consuming him about Sam  _did_ make him pull away a few times. He didn't know how to protect his brother and be in love with someone at the same time.

"I don't have to be here," whispered Castiel. "I'm a grown man, as they say, and I can find my way in life. I won't be another burden to you, Dean. I refuse." His words drifted away as his thoughts apparently drifted too. "My desire to let you find happiness, even away from me, has made me walk away from you before. This ... this love for you is deathless, but I'd rather know you're happy than--"

"--What do you mean you walked away before?" Dean interrupted.

The silhouette of his head tilted.

"Cas, talk to me," he pressed harder.

He looked away from Dean as if the memory was a painful one. "I watched over you sometimes during the year that you thought Sam was in the cage with Lucifer. You never knew, of course. I saw you trying to live with Lisa and Ben, and I knew I couldn't intrude on your chance to have a normal human life." Silence descended over them like a blanket and Castiel absently laced his fingers through Dean's hand. "But I wanted to intrude. I wanted to have what we had before everything was destroyed. So I watched over you whenever I could, just to see you. If I have to, for your sake, I'll disappear again."

"No, you won't," Dean replied in a stern tone. "Look, Sammy told me to come get you because I think he knows I'm not gonna be focused if I'm always wondering where you are and worried that some pissed off angels are kicking your ass. And it's true."

"I can defend myself," said Castiel.

"I know but..." A low growl rolled from Dean's throat, hating to talk about feelings and shit. "We're not splitting up, okay? Face it, Cas. We're better together than we are apart."

"You're certain?"

" _Yeah_ , now drop it." Grabbing him around the back of the neck, Dean tugged him down on his chest. "I need you to stay."

Now that everything between them was settled, Dean hoped, he finally felt drowsiness coming over him. But as he tossed a lazy arm over Castiel, the former angel winced and shifted further away. Suddenly alert again, Dean pulled back his hands, questioning what the hell hurt.

"You okay?"

"It hurts, I think," Castiel replied.

"What hurts?"

An impatient sigh added to the list of new Castiel habits. He slid off Dean and propped himself up on his elbows. The curving lines of his shoulders and back in the faintly glowing streetlights. Not answering right away worried Dean. He rolled up on an elbow too and turned Castiel's face toward him by fingers curled under his chin.

"It hurts to fall by choice but it's unbearable to be pushed out by force," he said softly. "You saw how it happens. The fire and burning wings."

"Yeah." The memory of flaming bodies streaking through the sky had haunted Dean for weeks afterward.

Castiel curled a hand over his shoulder and pointed it out, saying, "I still have pain here. I know you never saw my wings and you can't see the burns now either but--"

"--It's okay. I'll watch where I grab," Dean offered. His brain always jumped to the next step though. "Is there anything we can do? Aspirin? Booze? Sex?"

"Oh, sex," replied Castiel with a chuckle that lightened the mood.

Laughing from his belly, Dean realized he'd never seen Castiel show a real interest in sex aside from basic scientific curiosity about porn and kissing a demon. The minute he encountered Dean as a human, though, his interest spiked. They hadn't done much aside from hasty groping in the laundromat, and Dean hadn't ever messed around with men before that, but he wanted it with Castiel. He didn't try to analyze it. He only wanted Castiel to know that not everything about mortality was horrible and painful. So he would fumble his way through it. They could learn together.

"Sex it is, then. Dr. Winchester is in," he boasted in one of his cheesier jokes.


End file.
